


Sugar and Spice (Nothing At All Nice)

by AndreaLyn



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Crossdressing Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 22:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11518824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: With a bounty hunter closing in on Vasquez, it's going to take drastic measures to smuggle him out of town alive. Unluckily for him, Goodnight is full of good ideas that involve razors, corsets, and perfume. Lucky for Faraday, he's discovering a whole new side of himself, thanks to Goodnight's ideas.





	Sugar and Spice (Nothing At All Nice)

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout here to the incredible [Shake Like Penions](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9442121) by ThrillingDetectiveTales because this fic only exists because I couldn't get this image out of my head. 
> 
> As always, huge thanks to [swingsetindecember](http://swingsetindecember.tumblr.com/) for the beta!

“As far as problems go, darling, this definitely don’t rank in my list of favorites,” Faraday says sharply, long tired of this mess.

Three days ago, the seven of them had ridden into town on the heels of word about someone extorting the good town’s folk. Trouble was, once they disposed of the black hat in question, it became quickly apparent that others had also come in from the wilderness to deal with the man, seeing as he had a bounty on his head. Now, they’ve been stuck here for days because that same warrant officer and his group seem to have found true enjoyment within the confines of this little town, which has also led to them hearing stories about a man named Vasquez who’s also been passing through. 

“We go at night,” Vasquez says for the fifth time, like if he keeps it up, Faraday will agree.

The thing is, this isn’t a problem for anyone but Vasquez. Faraday and the rest of the group could leave at any point in time, but for his companion, there are five hundred little problems preventing him from walking out of this town freely. Faraday’s is starting to feel twitchy himself what with Vasquez practically wearing a hole in the floor. He’s pacing and spinning his pistols and smoking like a damn chimney in turns and it’s enough to piss Faraday off.

“What, and run into one of his boys? He knows you’re here, sweetheart. You ride out on that horse of yours any time, day or night, and someone’s going to bring you to him,” Faraday says, reaching out to grab Vasquez by the wrist, hauling him down onto the bed to sit and stop spinning his wheels. 

Vasquez clearly isn’t happy with that response. “We wait him out.”

“Yeah, because you’re doing a fine job sitting here being patient,” Faraday mutters, reaching over to steal Vasquez’s cigarillo from his lips to inhale sharply. 

Truth of the matter is that he’s not doing such a bang-up job of being patient, either. He’s gambling way too much, drinking freely and endlessly, and he’s getting bored. This was supposed to be a quick job, but now they’re staring down the barrel of at least another week in this place unless they manage to unearth a decent plan. There’s also the unfortunate truth to face that you can only fuck away the tension so many times before the citizens start getting fussy and with eager warrant officers lurking all over, Faraday doesn’t want to risk Vasquez losing his head because of one incredibly good orgasm. 

Vasquez looks like he’s ready to burst. “There has to be some way out.”

“Yeah, and we’ll find it, but you fussing constantly ain’t doing us any favors,” Faraday complains, starting to feel the kind of twitchy that leads to someone getting shot. Normally, he’d crush the cigarillo under his boot and pin Vasquez to the bed to convince him to go a round, but it appears that they’re in problem-solving mode. 

Lucky for them, that problem is a communal one, but Faraday’s piss poor mood is keeping him from getting up to solicit advice, so he’s about to unleash another slew of irritation when he’s interrupted by a knock at the door. 

Faraday and Vasquez exchange a confused look, because neither had been expecting anyone. Cocking the hammer of his gun, Faraday creeps towards the door, ready to shoot in case their warrant officer friends have finally figured out which room they’re staying in.

“Who is it?”

“Goodnight,” says the man. Faraday opens the door a bit to find the man at the door wearing a gleeful smile, like he’s got a joke that he’s about to let Faraday in on. He releases his grip on the gun, but maybe a second longer than he would normally, seeing as that’s not a good look. “Red and I came up with an idea on how we get out of this town.”

Vasquez perks up from where he’s sitting on the bed. “ _Si_? Anything, yes, what are we going to do?”

Goodnight holds up a corset, dress, and razor from where he’s been stashing the items behind him. “I can guarantee at least one of you won’t like it.” He gives Faraday a clap on the shoulder. “Go on, get downstairs and help the others get the wagons and horses ready. I figure I need an hour to improve upon the beauty of that man.”

“Nothing to improve on,” Vasquez mutters, staring at the clothes in Goodnight’s arms warily. “Go,” he tells Faraday, trepidation in his eye, but he’s not denying Goodnight’s plan. 

It’s a testament as to how poorly this situation’s grown that they all acknowledge this as something that might actually work. Faraday gives Vasquez one last look, giving him a slow look up and down like he’s trying to gauge the possibility of this plan seeing success. He settles his hat back on his head as he makes his way downstairs to get the horses ready, not sure how the hell Goodnight assumes a little polish and rouge is gonna make Vasquez somehow turn from outlaw to lady of the night, enough so that a warrant officer won’t notice as he passes.

“Well,” he says cheerfully to himself, basking in sarcasm in lieu of sense, “we’re all gonna die.”

* * *

Faraday’s got a wagon ready and Sam’s made sure the rest of the horses are suited for the journey, with Vasquez and Faraday’s stallions pulling the wagon and Sam leading them out. Once they clear the town, they can get Vasquez into the cover of it and let him change back into something decent while the rest of the posse ride up to join them in intervals.

They’ve got decent cloud cover right now and if they don’t want the damn moon shining truth on their little ruse, they’d better get moving soon. Faraday hurries back to the room he’s been sharing with Vasquez, knocking heavy on the door, checking his pocket watch to make sure they’re not losing too much time.

“Well?” Faraday prods when the door opens and Goodnight steps out, wiping his hands with a rag. Faraday can’t tell a lie, he’s still a touch amazed that Vasquez is willing to roll with this, but he supposes that if it were his life versus some pretty clothes and shaving your face, he knows which one he’d be inclined to do.

Goodnight looks proud, tucking his razor blade into his pocket, gesturing over his shoulder with an approving nod. Faraday and Vasquez haven’t been the only ones irritated with being trapped in town and while the others could have left, none of them have wanted to risk Sam’s look of disapproval. If anything, Faraday’s a little surprised Goodnight didn’t come up with this ruse a whole lot sooner.

“It’ll work real well, once we get you onto a wagon and we get a hat to cast some shadow,” Goodnight guarantees, clapping Faraday on the shoulder as he passes. “Your wife is a real pretty thing, Mr. Faraday.”

He bristles at the idea, but Goodnight’s got the best mind of the group of them, and he’s right. Easier to fool some trigger-happy idiots if they’re posing as a couple instead of Vasquez trying to ride out by his lonesome, not only for the show of it, but also for the extra set of guns. Goody’s chuckling to himself as he whistles on his way out, but once he’s gone, he hears the irritated cursing from inside.

“You decent?” 

“ _Pinche pendejo_ ,” Vasquez mutters angrily, “I don’t know how women do this all the time.”

Faraday nudges the door open to peer inside, arching a brow at the silhouette that Vasquez makes. From here, Faraday just gets a view of the profile, but it’s already a damn bit telling about Goodnight’s talents at costumes or Vasquez’s predilection for cutting a fine figure in a corset. Goody’s taken a sharp razor to Vasquez’s face to remove any trace of stubble and seeing as they haven’t seen hide nor hair of a barber in six months, his hair is already in loose curls just above his shoulders. It looks like Goody took some kind of pomade to twist them in curls, not to mention the care and thought put into the kohl pencil someone used to frame Vasquez’s eyes. The dress is a floral pattern of dusty roses and cinching the waist is a brown leather corset, actually making Faraday believe that there’s something the material is pushing up, which is pretty incredible, because he hadn’t thought himself _that_ drunk.

“What?” Vasquez snaps as his hair falls over his eyes while he works at the garters to hook them up, skirts hoisted as he fidgets with the corsetry. He’s got one foot on a chair and he’s leaning forward to slide his fingers over the hosiery, the lifted skirts giving Faraday a look at his dick straining against lady’s underthings, caught by frilly lace. 

Faraday has to adjust his stance, rocking his hips back so that he can ease himself behind the doorway just enough that his reaction isn’t so _pressingly_ obvious. It’s not like Vasquez has meat on his shoulders the way Faraday does, but that corset does a hell of a job painting a picture of a figure that doesn’t exist and the skirts do the rest. With the light as dim as it is outside, he’s sure that no one is going to figure the sight in front of them for Vasquez the Outlaw. 

Hell, Faraday’s starting to worry that one of the warrant boys is going to take too fine an interest to Vasquez looking like he does. Faraday mutters under his breath about Goody doing too good a job, but heads inside to start grabbing their shit so they can start this hasty retreat. 

“I can barely breathe,” Vasquez complains, bending down to yank up a discarded lady’s fan, along with some of the lipstick that Goody had left, dabbing it on aggressively with his finger to smooth over his lips in a back and forth motion that’s got Faraday captivated. 

“Fucking asshole,” Faraday exhales when Vasquez clears the room. He’s got a picture in his head of Vasquez’s red lips wrapped around his dick and that’s going to be a problem. The warrant officers might not arrest them, but he’s not sure he can live with the lifelong embarrassment of how goddamn pent up this is making him. He leans down to yank up his bandana, offering it out so that Vasquez can wear it around his neck and hide _certain_ parts. “You know, you’re gonna have to shut that mouth of yours if this is going to work.”

“I know how to be silent, unlike some of us,” Vasquez retorts, moving with a decidedly unfeminine-like stalk forward.

Faraday reaches out before he can descend the stairs to the main floor of the saloon. “You ever seen a woman before?”

There’s murder in Vasquez’s glare as he stares at Faraday. “More than you ever have.”

“Now’s not the time for a goddamn pissing contest,” Faraday hisses. “The ride outta town will be fine, but you’re gonna have to walk there. Look like a goddamn woman, would you?” he snaps, sliding his arm into Vasquez’s as if it’ll make a difference. “Move your hips or something.”

Vasquez snorts. “And you ask if I’ve ever seen a woman,” he mocks, but still stops so that he can prepare himself. He adjusts his medallion and takes the bandana to wrap it around his neck loosely, running his fingers through his curls before he takes the fan out and uses it to cover all but his eyes. 

See, now, Faraday ought to be more comfortable in the fact that Vasquez is making him question every ounce of this desire. It’s not like it’s the first time, seeing as Faraday never figured he’d add ‘Mexican’ to the list of people he’s fucked, yet, they’ve been sleeping together since Faraday recovered from Rose Creek. Still, this is awakening a whole new slumbering giant that he didn’t even know existed, all because of the way that skirt moves and Faraday’s knowledge of what’s under it, pressed up against finery and lace.

“Lord, give me patience,” he mutters and adjusts his hold on Vasquez to slide an arm around his waist once they’re halfway down the stairs. “C’mon, act like I said something hilarious.”

“Fake it? You sure you want more women faking things for you?”

Lucky for Faraday, a few of the local law boys come staggering towards the stairs. Sheer survival instinct kicks in and Vasquez huffs in soft, breathy laughter, tucking his chin in against Faraday’s chest, stumbling in like he’s drunk to which Faraday wraps his arm around that neat little waist of Vasquez’s in that corset, grinning smugly. 

“I’m just seeing the lady home,” he says, sharing a wink with the boys, “if you know what I mean.”

The two keep staring at them as they pass, making a few lewd comments about Vasquez’s ass before they’re back to drunkenly rambling about some ridiculous shooting contest they’re aiming to claim victory over. “Assholes,” Vasquez growls.

“Honey, they think your ass is fine enough to take a bite out of,” Faraday replies, wiping away false tears of pride. “I’ve never been happier in my life.” He’s extra lucky that there’s so many people around that Vasquez can’t shove him away, but holds on to his hand, sliding the other up and down Faraday’s chest, like a drunken whore eager to get under his vest. He makes a real show of tipping his hat to folks, winking, greeting them a fine evening.

If there’s one thing he learned at a young age, it’s the worth of misdirection.

He hears Sam’s sharp whistle from around the corner once they clear the saloon, urging them towards the wagons that Faraday had been helping to set up earlier. 

“You keep doing that and people are going to think I’m easy,” Faraday notes, when Vasquez slides his fingers near Faraday’s gun belt. 

“Or that I’m fixing to be a young widow when they can’t prove I pulled the trigger.”

“None of that, now,” he says, lightly rapping at Vasquez’s fingers when one of the villagers looks at them a little too long. Faraday stops their ambling to turn to Vasquez, a look of mischief glittering in his eyes, he’s sure. It’s just that he’s thought of something that hadn’t occurred to him before that’ll either stop the staring or make it worse, but it’s worth the try.

Sure, Vasquez looks all dolled up and different with the clothes and the makeup, but Faraday still sees the man beneath. He has to peer up at him, just slightly, because the lift in those boots of Vasquez’s give him height, but Faraday can cup his cheeks on the main street and look at him like an affectionate man, besotted with their lover.

“What are you doing?” Vasquez asks softly, clearly not having the same epiphany as Faraday.

“Anything I want,” is Faraday’s sincere answer, leaning in to kiss Vasquez like any man can kiss his woman in these parts, rather than having to hide it behind closed doors. It’s a heady rush, being able to kiss Vasquez like they don’t have to worry about the noose because they’re two men and he feels like that’s the reason the shiver rolls up his spine, even as Faraday presses a hand to Vasquez’s back to pull him in close.

When he eases back, Faraday isn’t the only one breathing heavy, though Vasquez is staring at him with a look that might just be wonder. 

Faraday catches his breath, figuring he needs to lighten the mood real quick before this gets heavy. “A real lady would swoon, you know.”

“Kiss better, then, and I’ll pretend to be a lady.”

Sam looks annoyed from where he’s waiting for them, holding the wagon reins in his hand, giving Faraday a disappointed look. It’s a shame that Faraday doesn’t feel the least bit guilty, tugging Vasquez along and helping to sell the bit by getting Vasquez and all his skirts situated, helping tie his hat onto Vasquez’s head, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he settles beside him.

“I’m selling the act,” Faraday protests sunnily to Sam, who’s mounting his horse to lead them out of town. Vasquez doesn’t look so put out, now that he’s starting to get some attention, but the play-acting can only last so long.

With Vasquez wrapped around one of his arms, Faraday _feels_ the moment his tension starts ratcheting up to dangerous levels. It’s right about the same time as they notice two of the warrant officer’s men who are stationed at the main exit of town. No doubt there’s lackeys like ‘em at the other exit points, too.

“Hold up,” the blonde kid says. “We’re supposed to check your wagon.”

“You do what you need to,” Faraday says, with an easy-going nod. The kid heads around to the back to start poking around while his friend (even younger, god help Faraday, he feels too damn old these days) comes closer and studies Sam, Faraday, and Vasquez in turns. 

Not taking his eyes off Vasquez, Faraday tries to maneuver himself to get a hand on his gun on the off chance this goes sour, but it doesn’t look like the kid suspects anything so much as he’s curious. 

“Who’s she?” he asks, while his friend is rummaging through the old trunks Faraday had stuffed in the back.

“I know you’re not rude enough to talk to a man’s wife like that right in front of him,” Faraday says, his hand casually resting on his gun, even as Vasquez does his part to bow his head a little lower, the shadow and the kohl around his eyes doing a real nice job of giving him doe-eyes that Faraday hasn’t seen since that quaint little whorehouse in Texas. “Especially seeing as we just got hitched and you’re delaying my wedding night.”

Vasquez curls in a little closer into Faraday’s body, batting his lashes at Faraday, pretending as if he’s a dutiful, loyal wife. Faraday’s grateful he doesn’t laugh at the notion of Vasquez being a dutiful anything, seeing as that would ruin their cover. 

“N-no,” the boy stammers. Lucky for them, their warrant officer put the tired amateurs on the night shift. Still, he’s not completely useless, proven by him fishing out the warrant for Vasquez from his pocket. “Boss says you lot rode into town with him,” he says, pointing to the likeness of Vasquez. “Only, boss said there were seven of you.”

He’s counting using his fingers now (bless that heart of his) and Sam on one horse plus a wagon with two others definitely don’t make seven.

“We saw him,” Sam agrees. “He got real fussy when Faraday earned the lady’s hand instead of him. Last we saw, he was out camping in the wilderness, trying to drink away his sorrows.” 

“All clear back here, just a bunch of clothes and gear,” the second comes around, looking disappointed. “Which way did he head?”

Sam points in the same direction as he’d mentioned earlier, which seems to be enough for the two. They both look like they’ve got more to say about Faraday’s choice in women, but they can also see where his hand lingers at his gun, so they step back and gesture to that beautiful strip of dirt waiting for them. Sam kicks off the lead and Faraday tips his hat to the gentlemen; all the while Vasquez keeps his cheek pressed to Faraday’s chin. 

“Much obliged, fellas,” Faraday says as they start to ride slowly past. “Later, when I’m consummating my marriage, I’ll think of you.”

“Please,” the younger of the two kids says, a touch wary, “don’t.”

Faraday smirks at him anyway, giving a small flick of his wrists to get the horses going faster, intent on clearing out of this town before Vasquez can do something like open that big mouth of his and get himself hauled in. 

As soon as they’re far enough outside of town, Sam whistles to them, signalling their stop, leaning both hands on the saddle as he casts a glance over his shoulder.

“Congratulations, Vasquez, you got out of town with your neck intact,” Sam says. 

The natural terrain gives them the cover that Billy riding up to join them isn’t too suspicious and it doesn’t take much prodding at all to get Vasquez to hop down in a flurry of skirts from the passenger’s seat, allowing Billy to settle on there. Faraday is staring after Vasquez, unable to take his eyes off the man, knowing that real soon, that dress and corset are coming off and he’ll have lost his chance. Faraday gives over the reins without once taking his eyes off Vasquez’s departing form.

“I’ll help,” he says, hopping down and ignoring the knowing look Sam and Billy share, even if there’s more exasperation than fondness in it.

He’s quick to get to the back of the wagon, hauling himself up just before Billy gets the horses moving again, holding onto the frame before he falls out. Vasquez is in the middle of undressing, but that’s just not going to work for what Faraday has in mind. 

“Faraday,” Vasquez hisses at him when he sees him there, like he’s scandalized by his sudden presence. 

There’s a heavy jolt and it sends Vasquez to his ass on top one of the trunks, hat falling off behind him. Faraday winds his way inside, so goddamn turned on that it’s actually painful. Vasquez’s line of sight is perfectly inline to see that, which means that Faraday doesn’t have long before Vasquez regains his bearings and starts making snide comments about the problems that _he’d_ created.

“Is this something you want?” Vasquez asks, clearly surprised, but in no way judging. “Guero, I never knew.”

“Neither did I,” Faraday confesses, sliding to his knees so he can crawl in the last few feet towards Vasquez, placing a hand on each of Vasquez’s knees to slide them apart, staring up at Vasquez as his lips part open. While Faraday would really like to be kissing those painted red lips, there’s something more pressing he needs to get his mouth on. “You’re a tornado when it comes to rolling through my life and wrecking the status quo.”

“I don’t see you complaining,” Vasquez says, tangling his fingers in the bandana around his neck to rip it off, wrapping it around Faraday’s neck to tug him in a little closer. “What are you going to do?”

“First off, you need to shut that pretty mouth of yours,” Faraday warns, both hands tangled up in the heavy fabrics of the skirt he’s wearing. “Or don’t you want my lips on you?”

Vasquez is blushing, the tips of his ears red, and for a wanted outlaw, that’s an adorable reaction to have. Faraday flips the skirts up, burying himself under as he digs out his knife to start cutting away at hooks and garters and fabric. He inhales sharply in anticipation and breathes in the sweet smell of florals and powders. Ducking back out far enough that the skirts hang on his head like a bonnet, he shoots Vasquez a curious look as to why that smell’s there.

“What happened to getting your lips on me, yes?” Vasquez prods impatiently, tangling his fingers in Faraday’s hair to start shoving him back, having dropped the bandanna to give his hands better things to do.

“Why do you smell like a whorehouse?”

“Goodnight thought perfume would sell the illusion,” Vasquez says, applying more pressure to Faraday’s head like he can force him to change topics. “I’ve slept near a dead man for weeks before to escape the law, perfume is not so bad.”

“Your dick smells of it, did you dip it in?”

“Pulse points,” Vasquez replies, keeping his face drawn blank. “It’s supposed to be more arousing.”

“You get any more arousing and my dick’s gonna fall off,” Faraday warns, feeling like he’ll need to deal with that later, but right now, he’s more than willing to let Vasquez shove him back down. He’s no Billy Rocks, but he’s extra careful with the knife, especially given the bumpy ride, but once he’s got the linens torn away, he keeps going, grinning maniacally as he juts the cold edge of the knife under the corset’s laces and curves it upwards. 

The sound of fabric ripping is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

Faraday laughs like he’s drunk as he tears away those damn linens and garters, shoving them over his shoulder before he hides himself underneath Vasquez’s skirts and gets one hand on the hard flesh of Vasquez’s thigh, the other guiding Vasquez’s dick as he wraps his lips around it and inhales the sweet, heady smell of a woman combined with that familiar, sweaty musk of a man. 

Fuck, he doesn’t know why this gets him going so much, but maybe it’s because Faraday gets to win and fuck his cake in the process, he doesn’t know. Right now, his only goal is to try and suck Vasquez’s brain out using his mouth and his hands, working in turns and refusing to give Vasquez a break, not even to slide back out and watch what his handiwork is doing to the man.

“Faraday,” Vasquez hisses, and Faraday _imagines_ the picture.

Those curls all done up in pomade, falling back over Vasquez’s shoulders, his fine bone structure casting shadows as he throws back his head, the kohl around his eyes even more apparent as he shuts them and lets his lashes fall on his cheeks. _His name_ on those red lips, chest no longer pressed upwards in illusion, but heaving all the same.

He feels Vasquez’s heel at his back, driving him on, which means that his little sojourn into fantasy has clearly affected his performance. Instead of mumbling his apologies, he gets right on making amends, curling his tongue around the head of Vasquez’s dick as he works his fingers along the shaft, letting that mental image of Vasquez live on his mind, even though it’s causing a real painful problem in his own trousers.

“Yes, yes, there, good,” Vasquez is murmuring, half like he’s talking to himself. “Joshua, Far-Faraday, good, very good, I don’t know what…” he hisses and curses under his breath. “What got into you today,” he keeps going, pushing out a breathless laugh, “but whatever it is, don’t stop, _puta_ , you son of a bitch, _chingado_ …”

It’s rude, that, so Faraday warns Vasquez off with the very slightest of scrapes of teeth that makes Vasquez hiss and then shut up, letting Faraday get on with getting him off, so damn eager to worship Vasquez right now, spurred on by this new discovery of what he likes.

“Joshua, _yes_ ,” Vasquez moans with no reproach in his voice. Vasquez runs like clockwork, honestly, and when all that piss and fire and hate in his voice fades into weary fondness, Faraday knows he’s got him in the palm of his hand.

Moving to the side a little, he mumbles a, “Come on, sweetheart,” as best as he can, given the inches of Vasquez he’s still working on, but lucky for him, it doesn’t take long at all before Vasquez is coming into his mouth. Faraday eases his way out from under the skirts, using the torn hem to wipe away at the come on his chin. 

He frantically works to get his belt and pants off, Vasquez’s fingers helping with that. The other man looks a fine wreck, but no less determined to deal with Faraday’s issue. Vasquez yanks on Faraday’s vest to haul him down into his lap, facing away from him, like some strange reversal of Faraday’s usual position with ladies in a saloon, but Faraday’s not complaining when Vasquez slides his hand into Faraday’s pants, pushing the buttons open and getting them down around his hips.

“You’re a sight like this,” Faraday praises, even as Vasquez guides Faraday’s hand to his hard dick, pushing his own fingers into all the empty spaces that Faraday’s make when he splays his hand. The both of their hands, together, on him is the relief that he’s been needing. He leans back into Vasquez’s lean body, the both of them rocking and working together. “God damn,” he hisses, when Vasquez flicks his thumb and those calluses on his gun-worn hands nearly tip him over the edge. “I’m not lasting long.”

“That’s the point,” Vasquez says, his voice warm and hot, kissing his neck and sucking Faraday’s lobe into his teeth so he can nip before releasing it. Here, so close, Faraday can smell the perfume on Vasquez’s neck, and it’s that damn smell that sends him over the edge.

“Fuck me,” Faraday practically vibrates with delight as he collapses back into Vasquez’s waiting arms, craning his neck backwards to share a smirk with him. “We got you out alive.”

“ _Si_ ,” Vasquez agrees, closing his dark eyes and tightening his hold on Faraday. “Can I change now?”

Faraday gives a thoughtful hum, like he needs to work through all these new fantasies in his brain to decide if he’s willing to say yes, but as much as he likes Vasquez in this finery, he also likes Vasquez in absolutely nothing at all. 

“Go on, get yourself all manly again,” Faraday agrees, pushing himself to a wobbly stand so he can collapse against the bags on the opposite side of the wagon, covering his face with his hat so he doesn’t go riling himself up again with the sight of Vasquez. “Best day of my damn life,” he announces.

“Not so bad,” he hears Vasquez’s amused agreement and the rustling of clothes, soothing Faraday into a light sleep as he revels in feeling victorious and worn out, all at once.

* * *

Goodnight’s waiting for them outside Elizabethtown, though the look Billy gives him as they ride up isn’t a promising one. He understands all too soon why Billy looks as miserable as he does when Faraday hops down from the back of the wagon, his lips swollen and red from more than just biting, looking pleased as punch.

Jack clears his throat from where he’s standing beside Goodnight, awkwardly staring upwards.

“What’s his problem?”

“I believe our mutual friend may be a slight bit perturbed over the fact that he can see your dick through your trousers,” Goodnight says amiably, gesturing to where Faraday’s fly is still open. 

Faraday doesn’t get embarrassed at all, just buttons it up and wanders over to Goodnight with the manic look of a man who hasn’t seen much sleep, clapping him on his shoulder. “I owe you,” is what Faraday says.

“We got Vasquez out alive, no thanks needed.”

“No, trust me, Goody, I _owe_ you,” Faraday insists again, wandering towards the fire Sam’s started. “Breakfast’s on, boys!” he says, bounding over excitedly. Jack shakes his head, but follows along at the summons of breakfast. 

Goodnight lingers, though, waiting at the back of the wagon as he leans casually against it, his rifle cross-ways across his body. He watches Billy head towards the fire with a somber look, shaking his head like he’s seen something awful. Goodnight gives a huff of laughter and raps lightly on the back of the wagon.

“I take it the plan worked to everyone’s satisfaction?” 

Vasquez pokes his head out first, back in his usual clothes, but with his eyes a little darker than usual, his face too clean-shaven by far, and his hair slicked back and tied loosely. He hops down from the wagon and gives Goodnight a shrug.

“Better than living with a dead man,” he admits. 

“There were certain gratifying perks, I take it?”

“One or two,” Vasquez agrees, still not looking Goodnight in the eye. “Come on, _amigo_ , I’m starving.” 

Goodnight pushes himself off the back of the wagon with a knowing grin, wondering exactly how many bottles of whiskey he can claim off this little victory, feeling quite assured in his wealth of drinking prospects in the near future.

* * *

“Keep it.”

“Why? We’re not smuggling me out of a town wearing it again, Sam promised we’ll be smarter about jobs in the future.”

Faraday shrugs, trying to act nonchalant and like he doesn’t give a damn, but, “Keep it,” he repeats with a determined leer on his face. Vasquez drops the rumpled, ripped, and desecrated dress and corset to the floor, to Faraday’s dismay, but when Vasquez crawls in to straddle Faraday in bed, things begin to look up.

“Or maybe a new one?” Vasquez suggests, raising a brow. His beard is growing in again, but his hair still curls around his cheeks and chin, soft to the touch. “One that isn’t ripped open by someone’s too-eager knife?”

“Didn’t hear you complaining at the time.”

“No, but now I know how Maria feels,” Vasquez maligns.

Those sounds of complaint quickly turn to laughter when Faraday rolls them, pinning Vasquez to the bed to show him exactly how good it can feel, being disrespected by Joshua Faraday. Lucky for Faraday, he also knows that Vasquez is more than happy to go with it, each and every day.


End file.
